It was just unclear now as it was all those years ago. What had made better suited for survival? How could a few base pairs in his genome make him immune so this horror when others fell victim to it, others who were probably better than he was. Brennan never had a suicidal thought in his life, and he wasn't going to waste his life now, but he couldn't imagine the cosmic joke that chose him to help protect and carry the human race. He couldn't stay far enough from the rest of world before the Outbreak; all he needed was his drafting table, his best friend. He almost visited his family out of formality and he just wanted to be left alone. He never was a selfish person, but nobody he knew would have imagined him acting like a protector, guarding the lives of others and being devoted to the task. Then again, most of the people he had known were probably dead or scattered. He didn't think they would even be able to recognize him anymore anyways. Brennan isn't sure he recognizes himself anymore.
"Most of the Immunes I knew, they take their duty very seriously. As do I." He continued to face forward, weapon always ready, training always there, 'your life before theirs'. The patrol was still quiet, but he couldn't calm himself down, he was always on edge. It's another biological 'miracle' the heightened levels of stress would have killed him by now. "The ones that are dedicated, they'll fight forever. But there's nothing wrong with taking care of yourself too. Regardless of their loyalty, the Immune can run themselves into the ground. I've seen a few good people kill themselves that way; they just refuse to run."
He used to run, a long time ago. Not anymore, and though he knew what path he was heading down, he had no other. He hoped that something would help him when that time came. He is afraid that nothing will.
Still no sound, no movement but their own and they were nearing the last stretch of the route. Brennan couldn't help but find his talkativeness tonight strange, and was almost thankful the patrol was over. He had never been accustomed to just talking about himself or talking in general, and he felt like he shared more of himself than he really intended. Though having someone to talk to, or rather listen to him just seemed to make him want to talk, in spite of all his internal barriers.
Just when he thought that the night would be wholly uneventful, there was a sound that sent a thrill of excitement and terror down his spine. The two always kept each other company. Lucretia seemed to have heard it to and was now pointing in the direction of the noise.
"Yes." He whispered, though the chances of whatever it was hearing them from before made the precaution almost meaningless. Though keeping quiet now would prevent it from pin-pointing them. He shouldered the rifle, knowing that he wasn't a good enough shot and it was close enough that it would be more efficient for him to take care of it with one of his knives. "Be careful," he warned, though he figured she knew well enough anyway.
Brennan moved forward cautiously; he wouldn't be able to place when the swimmers had come to shore so he was unable to make an accurate assessment of their stability. When the infected came into sight, there wasn't more than two of them. One was still crawling onto shore, and he was close enough now to get the one standing up without a problem.